A MERMAID'S TALE
By John D. Brooke
I marveled at the wild coastal beauty as I hiked from the Cornish town of St. Ives. to the hamlet of Zennor. The rough path snaked high through the granite cliffs, around coves and inlets. Mixed in the surf I thought I heard melodious singing, in words I couldn’t decipher.
Eventually I arrived at Zennor a hamlet dating back to the Bronze Age. Not long ago the Atlantic offered the only livelihood for fisherfolk. Time is still reckoned by the flood of the tides.
The Tinners Arms, built in 1200 AD, is the only pub. “Fish, Copper, Tin!” a Cornish Anthem the regulars shouted as they downed Cornish ale drawn from wooden barrels.
Opposite this public-house sat St. Agnes church. Its roof, a capsized wooden boat’s hull, all proper and shipshape.
Within that dimly lit place I spied an archaic wooden pew carved with a representation of a shapely Mermaid. I returned to the pub and I asked about her.
“Arrr that carvings about 600 years old.” Says Dark Dick of Vellan Dreath, introducing himself.
“What’s the story about the mermaid?” I asks
“Well, son the sea gives us life and takes life away too. Ya don’t sound too lubberly, and you seem to be a right cousin Jack. I’ll tell ye about our Mermaid and Matthew.
At day’s end, when the boats returned with a good catch, the people climbed to the church and give thanks. The choir sang Evensong led by Mathew a handsome lad who’s voice pealed out sweeter than church bells.
One evening as boats bobbed at anchor and everybody was in church. Down in Zennor Cove, the waves parted and a strange being rose and slithered up on a rock.
A female sea creature. Her top half a beautiful young woman but beneath her navel, was a long silvery fishtail.
This mermaid looked at her reflection in the quiet water. Combed out little crabs and seashells from her long golden hair. The sweet singing of Mathew’s voice wrapped her in a spell as she listened.
The wind rose as the sun went down and Mathew’s song faded. The Mermaid slid back beneath the billows to her home.
Next evening she swam past the fishermen's boats. The easier to listen. So beautiful. She thought. When darkness descended into soundless shadows.
The following days ends she swam earlier and bolder, right up on the shore. To listen to Mathew, she marveled, What magical instrument makes such music?
The Mermaid felt compelled to learn more about the man singing. Beheld the church, she took heed of the music pouring through its open doors. She yearned to peek inside to discover who sang so sweetly.
Espied the tide ebbing, she was forced to return home or be stranded like a fish out of water. Dived into the receding waves, down to the cave where she lived with her father the king.
Described to Neptune the beautiful voice, his daughter upset the ancient being. He wagged a web finger and said,” Morveren my darling daughter, to listen is enough."
“I must go, Father,” she declared, “for his music is magic.”
“Nay,” he shook his seaweed festooned hair.
A perfect ocean pearl of a tear, fell from Morveren’s eye. “Then surely I will die from the wanting him.”
The King of the Oceans gasped; for a mermaid to cry is a thing unfathomable.
Go with care Morveren, he said. Return by the rising tide, or you may never return at all.” Neptune gave her a gown encrusted with pearls and ocean jewels to cover her silvery tail. Her shiny golden tresses netted.
Slippery tail concealed under the exquisite frock made swishing up the path difficult. She grasped trees branches lining the path, and helped herself to the open church doors. Arrived at the closing hymn, and the congregation did’t notice her. There stood handsome Mathew the man with the voice that had bewitched her.
Thereafter, Morveren slithered to the church. Listened and left as the last notes faded. A regular until one evening she lingered spellbound too long listening to Mathew.
A sigh escaped her. Mathew caught it, and beheld the mermaid. Her eyes shined as she caught his look. Her net had fallen and he gaped at her gleaming golden hair. Struck silent by his instant love for her.
Scared Morveren turned and flip-flopped out the door. “Wait” Mathew called as he ran down the aisle in hot pursuit. Stunned the congregation dropped their hymn-books, and joined the chase.
Tangled in her skirts, Morveren and would have fallen but Mathew held her. “Whoever ye be, stay.” He begged.
“I’m a sea creature and must return to the ocean.”
“Then I will go with thee” pledged Mathew, as he spied the tip of her fish tail beneath her dress.
Down to the ocean he carried her. The assembly ran after them and shouted, “Hold back!”. Mathew was quick and strong and Morveren clever. Tore the precious sea jewels from her dress, flinging them about the foreshore. Greed overcame the villagers as they stopped to scoop up the gems.
The tide receded as Mathew with his lover plunged into the ocean until the combers rolled over them.
They had gone to live in golden sand castles built far below the waves in a blue-green world. Never to be seen again.
300 years later the Zennor folk still hearken to Mathew singing love and sea songs to Morveren. In a ghostly voice that rises up soft and high if the day be fair, deep and low if King Neptune his immortal father-in-law caused the waters to churn.
Dark Dick concluded, “Fisherfolk say Mathew’s soul sings to them that will listen.”
Later I swear, I sensed a deep ghostly male voice singing in the rising wind as I trudged back to St. Ives that blustery day.
- - -
John D. Brooke, is an expatriate Canadian living by the Sea of Cortez in Baja California Sur, Mexico. He was a an award winning advertising scribbler. Now he’s an emerging writer of poetry, flash fiction, short stories, and novels.
By John D. Brooke
I marveled at the wild coastal beauty as I hiked from the Cornish town of St. Ives. to the hamlet of Zennor. The rough path snaked high through the granite cliffs, around coves and inlets. Mixed in the surf I thought I heard melodious singing, in words I couldn’t decipher.
Eventually I arrived at Zennor a hamlet dating back to the Bronze Age. Not long ago the Atlantic offered the only livelihood for fisherfolk. Time is still reckoned by the flood of the tides.
The Tinners Arms, built in 1200 AD, is the only pub. “Fish, Copper, Tin!” a Cornish Anthem the regulars shouted as they downed Cornish ale drawn from wooden barrels.
Opposite this public-house sat St. Agnes church. Its roof, a capsized wooden boat’s hull, all proper and shipshape.
Within that dimly lit place I spied an archaic wooden pew carved with a representation of a shapely Mermaid. I returned to the pub and I asked about her.
“Arrr that carvings about 600 years old.” Says Dark Dick of Vellan Dreath, introducing himself.
“What’s the story about the mermaid?” I asks
“Well, son the sea gives us life and takes life away too. Ya don’t sound too lubberly, and you seem to be a right cousin Jack. I’ll tell ye about our Mermaid and Matthew.
At day’s end, when the boats returned with a good catch, the people climbed to the church and give thanks. The choir sang Evensong led by Mathew a handsome lad who’s voice pealed out sweeter than church bells.
One evening as boats bobbed at anchor and everybody was in church. Down in Zennor Cove, the waves parted and a strange being rose and slithered up on a rock.
A female sea creature. Her top half a beautiful young woman but beneath her navel, was a long silvery fishtail.
This mermaid looked at her reflection in the quiet water. Combed out little crabs and seashells from her long golden hair. The sweet singing of Mathew’s voice wrapped her in a spell as she listened.
The wind rose as the sun went down and Mathew’s song faded. The Mermaid slid back beneath the billows to her home.
Next evening she swam past the fishermen's boats. The easier to listen. So beautiful. She thought. When darkness descended into soundless shadows.
The following days ends she swam earlier and bolder, right up on the shore. To listen to Mathew, she marveled, What magical instrument makes such music?
The Mermaid felt compelled to learn more about the man singing. Beheld the church, she took heed of the music pouring through its open doors. She yearned to peek inside to discover who sang so sweetly.
Espied the tide ebbing, she was forced to return home or be stranded like a fish out of water. Dived into the receding waves, down to the cave where she lived with her father the king.
Described to Neptune the beautiful voice, his daughter upset the ancient being. He wagged a web finger and said,” Morveren my darling daughter, to listen is enough."
“I must go, Father,” she declared, “for his music is magic.”
“Nay,” he shook his seaweed festooned hair.
A perfect ocean pearl of a tear, fell from Morveren’s eye. “Then surely I will die from the wanting him.”
The King of the Oceans gasped; for a mermaid to cry is a thing unfathomable.
Go with care Morveren, he said. Return by the rising tide, or you may never return at all.” Neptune gave her a gown encrusted with pearls and ocean jewels to cover her silvery tail. Her shiny golden tresses netted.
Slippery tail concealed under the exquisite frock made swishing up the path difficult. She grasped trees branches lining the path, and helped herself to the open church doors. Arrived at the closing hymn, and the congregation did’t notice her. There stood handsome Mathew the man with the voice that had bewitched her.
Thereafter, Morveren slithered to the church. Listened and left as the last notes faded. A regular until one evening she lingered spellbound too long listening to Mathew.
A sigh escaped her. Mathew caught it, and beheld the mermaid. Her eyes shined as she caught his look. Her net had fallen and he gaped at her gleaming golden hair. Struck silent by his instant love for her.
Scared Morveren turned and flip-flopped out the door. “Wait” Mathew called as he ran down the aisle in hot pursuit. Stunned the congregation dropped their hymn-books, and joined the chase.
Tangled in her skirts, Morveren and would have fallen but Mathew held her. “Whoever ye be, stay.” He begged.
“I’m a sea creature and must return to the ocean.”
“Then I will go with thee” pledged Mathew, as he spied the tip of her fish tail beneath her dress.
Down to the ocean he carried her. The assembly ran after them and shouted, “Hold back!”. Mathew was quick and strong and Morveren clever. Tore the precious sea jewels from her dress, flinging them about the foreshore. Greed overcame the villagers as they stopped to scoop up the gems.
The tide receded as Mathew with his lover plunged into the ocean until the combers rolled over them.
They had gone to live in golden sand castles built far below the waves in a blue-green world. Never to be seen again.
300 years later the Zennor folk still hearken to Mathew singing love and sea songs to Morveren. In a ghostly voice that rises up soft and high if the day be fair, deep and low if King Neptune his immortal father-in-law caused the waters to churn.
Dark Dick concluded, “Fisherfolk say Mathew’s soul sings to them that will listen.”
Later I swear, I sensed a deep ghostly male voice singing in the rising wind as I trudged back to St. Ives that blustery day.
- - -
John D. Brooke, is an expatriate Canadian living by the Sea of Cortez in Baja California Sur, Mexico. He was a an award winning advertising scribbler. Now he’s an emerging writer of poetry, flash fiction, short stories, and novels.
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